<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Ni Cuy Kaysh Kar’ta (I'm His Heart) by Bigorneaux</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27608434">Ni Cuy Kaysh Kar’ta (I'm His Heart)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bigorneaux/pseuds/Bigorneaux'>Bigorneaux</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cyare Di’kute (Beloved Idiots) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Dorks in Love, Explicit Consent, LadyIrina is a deity among mere mortals, M/M, Marriage, Non-Explicit Sex, Tender like chicken, There Are FeelingsTM, and sexy times, delurked just to post it, like honestly what have we done to deserve him, my first fic in like a decade, please enjoy this tooth-rotting sweetness, thank you for Corin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:02:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,984</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27608434</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bigorneaux/pseuds/Bigorneaux</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stars, Din,” Corin mutters fondly, “We’re idiots. Why did this take us so long?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/Din Djarin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cyare Di’kute (Beloved Idiots) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022686</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>128</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ni Cuy Kaysh Kar’ta (I'm His Heart)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts">LadyIrina</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599798">Hidden and Revealed</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina">LadyIrina</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, LadyIrina's Mandorin verse has me got completely smitten. I've been mulling over a possible we're-married-let's-get-this-helmet-off scenario for a while, and this just kind of tumbled out while procrastinating on real life responsibilities. I haven't written fic in a long time (and honestly am de-lurking from fandom life after like a solid decade to post this), but figured I'd put this out there in honour of Corin and LadyIrina's whole amazing series! Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A faint tremor shakes the tips of Corin’s fingers as he slides them upward, tracing a gentle line from the protrusion of Din’s collarbone above his breastplate up the curve of his bare neck. Corin can feel the tension there, the subtle movements of Din’s jaw working back and forth. Freezing momentarily, Corin has to resist the urge to withdraw his hand and either bolt away or beg forgiveness.</p><p><em>Nervous. He’s nervous</em>, Corin reminds himself. <em>Just as nervous as you are</em>. Din wants this, both of them do, and Din had given his vows freely. But a part of Corin, the damaged pieces he’s been trying to mend back together these past months while in the warmth of Din’s affection, fires warning shots. He doesn’t deserve this. Probably doesn’t deserve to even touch, let alone look.</p><p>Letting out a shallow breath, Corin looks into the T-visor that separates them and slips his fingers up a little further, just under the coolness of the beskar to find the heat of Din’s face, the stubble of his jawline, the soft ends of his hair. His hand finds its goal, the small release mechanism that will loosen the helmet and let him lift it off easily. He moves to press it, but Din takes a sharp breath and Corin feels another stab of anxiety seat itself in his chest. The tremors in his fingers strengthen, and he fumbles, pulls his hand away just a little to rest along the smooth skin under Din’s ear.</p><p>Corin looks away and mumbles a hitching “Sorry,” around a watery smile that is part nerves, part excitement—and part overwhelming love for Din, part creeping self-doubt in his worthiness to be loved by him.</p><p>Din huffs an affectionate sigh and reaches his own not-entirely-steady hand to tilt Corin’s face back up. His voice is gravelly when he murmurs, “Always thinking too much,” before reaching his other hand up to Corin’s to move it back to the release mechanism. </p><p>“<em>Ni tsikala, ner kar'ta</em>,” Din says, a bit breathlessly, “<em>Ni tsikala</em>.”</p><p><em>He’s ready</em>, Corin affirms to himself, trying to let the words wash away his doubts about his own readiness. It’s strange to think that they have been so close in every other way, yet this last frontier feels insurmountable. A freeing and frightening final acknowledgement that Corin <em>is</em> worthy, that he does deserve the warmth of Din’s sun, that he is not damaged goods.</p><p>Steadying his hand, he presses the release mechanism open with a bright <em>click</em>. He wants to taste, to trace every line and bone of Din’s face with hands and lips and tongue. But still he hesitates, a long moment stretching out as his mind works to remind him of all the reasons Din probably should not have said those vows…</p><p>Din’s sudden laugh startles him. “<em>Kar’ta</em>,” he admonishes, “<em>Gev!</em> Stop! I’m honestly not that bad to look at, I promise.” He squeezes Corin’s shoulder and runs his hand up to Corin’s face, dragging his thumb across lips that have parted both from the startle and his good-natured annoyance at Din’s silliness. Din huffs another little laugh and then his own hands are on his helmet, lifting it off in a fluid, graceful movement that belies the fine shaking Corin can see in Din’s frame.</p><p>“There,” he says, his mouth still upturned in a smile as his eyes find Corin’s. The smile wavers a little and then falls away, a delicate silence settling around them both as the gravity of the moment pushes the air from their lungs.</p><p>Corin just looks for a moment as the intensity of his love for this man, his <em>kar’ta, </em>washes over him again and again, threatening to drown him in its sweetness. He loved Din without ever caring about his face, would have loved him no matter what had been under that beskar, but this…well, good luck has him squarely in her hands here.</p><p>Din’s skin is just as golden here as it is everywhere else, and his features are both rugged and gentle at the same time. His lips are softly parted, his eyes a deep brown and his hair is a haphazard mop of dark waves. Little scars of struggles past adorn a few places, including a light scar that tracks across the bridge of his nose. He somehow manages to look both boyish and resolutely masculine at the same time, and there is an inadvertent playfulness to his face even in the seriousness of this moment.</p><p>This time, Corin huffs a little laugh, a breathless sound of joy. Din looks stricken, frozen in the moment and, uncharacteristically, seems unsure where to go from here. So, Corin reaches out to touch. He’s hesitant at first, but when Din manages a tight nod, his fingers flutter to the scar that runs across the bridge of Din’s nose and then sweep down across his cheek. Din’s eyes close at the featherlight touch, and Corin trails his thumb across long eyelashes, an eyebrow, then pushes his hand into that tousle of ridiculous hair. His hand finds its home at the back of Din’s head and Corin pulls him into an achingly gentle <em>kov’nyn</em>. He can feel Din tremble sweetly under his hands, both of them overcome by the simple, deep joy of the moment. What he did to deserve this, Corin has no idea. Their little family with the child, this life that they are carving out for each other, this fragile bubble of warmth and safety and happiness in an unpredictable galaxy… It seems unfathomable and yet is right here, soft and warm and yielding under his stuttering hands.</p><p>Corin smiles and laughs again, giddy from the intensity of the moment, and squeezes Din’s shoulder with his free hand. At this, Din finally unwinds, exhaling his own little laugh and reaching his hands up to cradle Corin’s face without breaking the contact of the <em>kov’nyn</em>.</p><p>“Stars, Din,” Corin mutters fondly, “We’re idiots. Why did this take us so long?”</p><p>Din’s laugh at this is low and thick with emotion. His hands tug Corin’s face down, breaking the <em>kov’nyn</em> to press warm, rough lips to his forehead. “Yeah, yeah we are,” he says shakily against Corin’s brow. "<em>Di'kute</em>.”</p><p>Din’s hands relax, wrapping around Corin’s shoulders and Corin returns the embrace, arms circling Din’s waist and hands finding a place beside the beskar of Din’s backplate to caress where the only barrier is fabric. They stay like that for a while, just holding each other in the spell of the moment, until Din’s lips move again, brushing soothingly over Corin’s forehead.</p><p>“<em>Kar'ta, ner kar'ta.  Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, ner cyar'ika, ner cyare di’kut.</em> <em>Nu'ni lise urmankalar ner jate'kara, ner riduur.”</em></p><p>Corin’s Mando’a is reasonably functional at this point, and he knows he’s just been told “I love you,” and been called Din’s beloved idiot and his husband amidst Din’s endearing ramblings. Corin can feel the smile on Din’s lips, and relishes their unintentional caresses as the words tumble out. It's something he'd never dared to hope for yet it is real. Din's lips are soft and warm and real against him. Corin laughs again, his heart soaring, his skin feeling light, tingly, unreal.</p><p>“I love you, too, Din,” he says joyfully, “I love you, too. <em>Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum</em>.”</p><p>Din pulls back and Corin feels dizzy with happiness and then with want when Din runs a thumb across his mouth and murmurs, “Can—can I…?”</p><p>Corin’s, “Yes,” hangs in the air for a moment. Din's mouth parts softly, nervously, and he leans in, shivering as their noses touch but not yet completely closing the distance. It will, Corin knows, be Din's first kiss. A dark little voice tries to whisper that Din shouldn't waste such a thing on him, but Corin shoves it away. This perfect, wonderful moment belongs to them; is something they both deserve. So Corin chooses to encourage Din instead, takes his wrist in his hand and rubs the smooth skin on the underside with his thumb. It was the first part of Din he'd ever touched, was a first kiss of a different kind, and echoing that first touch now works as intended. Moving forward, Din's lips find his in a kiss that is timid and tender at first, but grows increasingly searing as Corin’s lips part slightly on an unbidden moan. It's a kiss like no other Corin has ever experienced. It's a sunrise glittering across untouched snow and ashes coalescing into a into the brilliance of a new star. It's finally drawing a deep breathe after years spent suffocating.</p><p>Suddenly, the decision to remove the helmet first, before any of the rest of what they’ve got on, seems like a ridiculous oversight. There’s too much between them, between bodies that long to fit together like they were planned out as corresponding shapes. Din starts the fumble into shedding their armour and clothes with shaking hands on the straps of Corin’s breastplate, and at first Corin just watches his face. The little furrow of his brow, the faint smirk on his lips, the shadows of stubble on his jaw, the unmuted joy in his dark, dulcet eyes.  </p><p>The breastplate and pauldrons detached and set aside, they both set to work on Din’s more complex armour. They fumble and laugh and pause to kiss again and again and again until eventually they’re both down to just their clothes.</p><p>Din’s hands find the hem of Corin’s shirt and linger there, waiting for permission. It’s this gentleness, this constant care and concern for what Corin wants, this communication that no one else has ever bothered to initiate with him, that just undoes Corin completely.</p><p>“Yes, yes,” Corin breathes, “clothing needs to go…now… Anything, Din, you can have anything.” And he means it, not because he feels obligated but because he wants anything Din wants to offer; he just <em>wants</em> so badly that it’s a physical ache deep inside him, in his bones. Din groans, almost growls, and then makes quick work of both their clothes.</p><p>From there, it’s a gentle tumble into the low, wide bed that graces their room at the Covert. It’s early yet, and the sounds of daily life at the compound echo in opaquely through the walls, but that world, the whole planet, the galaxy, all suddenly seem far, far away. A strange, hazy memory compared to the solid reality of Corin’s hands tracing the lines of Din’s face, his mouth chasing the rough softness of Din’s lips, and hands, hands everywhere, mapping out the paths and lines of desire that connect them to one another in this moment.</p><p>Aside from removal of the helmet, none of this exploration is new between them, and yet it feels to Corin that something precious is born in those touches and kisses. He marvels at the goodness that can come from his hands, from hands that have fought and killed at the behest of evil, but now give comfort and safety and pleasure to this man who loves him for exactly who he was, is and will be.</p><p>Later, his hands hold Din’s face as the man’s release crescendos in waves that leave his beautiful mouth parted and his head tilted back in untethered pleasure. Once Corin’s own release has left him in its blissful wake, those same hands clean them both up, gently, delicately, as Din drifts contentedly in the aftermath. The easy flutter of eyelashes, the curve of a smile, the soft, relaxed lines of Din’s face all communicate the complete trust that he has in Corin, and Corin, finally, timidly, accepts the preciousness of that gift into his heart. The brokenness inside him is still there; the self-doubt, he knows, will never fully leave, but a little defiant voice also whispers resolutely into that darkness now.</p><p>
  <em>I am worthy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am loved. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ni cuy kaysh kar’ta.    </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Par darasuum. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <b>TRANSLATION NOTES</b>
</p><p>I tried my best to get everything right here by cobbling together a few different translation tools, but no guarantee I haven't actually said something completely ridiculous in Mando'a instead of what I intended! Do let me know if you see something glaring! </p><p><em>Ni tsikala, ner kar'ta.</em><br/>I [am] ready, my heart. </p><p><em>Di'kute.</em><br/>Idiots.</p><p><em>Kar'ta, ner kar'ta.  Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, ner cyar'ika, ner cyare di’kut. Nu'ni lise urmankalar ner jate'kara, ner riduur.</em><br/>Heart, my heart. I love you, my sweetheart, my beloved idiot. I cannot believe my good stars [luck], my husband. </p><p><em>Ni cuy kaysh kar’ta.</em><br/>I'm his heart. </p><p><em>Par darasuum.</em><br/>Forever/eternally.</p><p>  <b><br/><em>Minor edits for detail made on 02/12/21.</em><br/></b></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>